


Pique

by sarahmonious



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandonment, Caring Dean, Caring Sam, Gen, Hurt Charlie Bradbury, Hurt Dean Winchester, POV Outsider, Secrets, The Winchester Gospels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 06:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8192947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahmonious/pseuds/sarahmonious
Summary: Combination of two prompts for LJ's Summergen 2016: “Charlie brings up something else she's read in the Winchester Gospels that really surprises one or both of the brothers. Not a secret one of them was keeping from the other intentionally, just something gone unmentioned even though it probably really really should have been.” And “Anything outsider POV of Sam and Dean.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smalltrolven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/gifts).



Charlie couldn’t stop the yelp as she was jostled, pain radiating out from the gash in her hip. Dean apologized softly, but the bright-white sting pounded on as they maneuvered her into the backseat of the car.  
  
“Ohhhh shit. Oh fuck,” she moaned.   
  
“I know, I know,” Dean said behind her. She realized she was leaning against him, his arms around her waist and chest. “’K Sammy, we’re as good as we’re gonna get.”   
  
The back door shut, and there was a brief moment of complete silence, save for her harsh breathing, and then the driver’s door opened and closed. The car rumbled to life, and Dean held her a bit tighter as they sped off.   
  
“Gonna have a hell of a scar, kiddo.” She felt Dean’s gruffness echo through her back. “Be quite a story for all the ladies.”   
  
“Hell yeah,” she mumbled. Ugh. Underneath her wooziness and the constant, sharp pain, she felt like an idiot.   
  
It had taken a bit of convincing to ensure both Sam and Dean that she would be 110% perfectly fine going on a hunt with them. Charlie had done plenty of hunting on her own without them, and seeing as how _she_ had been the one to confirm the thing they were hunting was a Gwyllion, she threatened bodily harm to sensitive areas if they tried to leave without her.   
  
It should have been a quick in-and-out – they’d even made plans for an Indiana Jones marathon when they returned. Research stated that they were “repelled” by plain metal knives, but as Gwyllions were of Welsh descent, they’d brought mostly iron and silver.   
  
Should have researched just a bit more, Charlie thought ruefully. Fortunately her own mistake only hurt her and not the boys.   
  
“They can disapperate,” Charlie said to the car. Sam snorted from the front seat. Just like Harry Potter – _poof_ – here one second, occupying a completely different square of physical space the next. Somehow the Gwyllion had gotten its hands on one of the knives and tried to skewer her.   
  
The car jolted as it hit a pothole, and Charlie hissed.   
  
“Almost there,” Dean said into her hair. “Just hang tight, okay? We’ll get you some of the good stuff, and you won’t feel a thing.”  
  
“Mmm yeah. Sounds good.” Her head lolled on his collarbone. “Bet this reminds you of when you almost got gutted when no one could remember you, huh.”  
  
There was an oddly long silence.  
  
“Y’know… when Sam was at college… ‘n’ everyone forgot?”  
  
“Uh,” Dean said.  
  
“Dean.” Sam’s voice sounded kinda funny. “What is she talking about.”  
  
“Ex-nay on the alking-tay,” Dean muttered to her.   
  
“Oh,” she said. Her stomach twisted. Had she said something wrong?  
  
“Dean—”  
  
“ _Sam_. Not right now.”  
  
Charlie heard Sam huff.  
  
The rest of the drive to the bunker was quiet. Charlie desperately wanted to fall asleep and forget that the entire evening had happened, but the pain in her side was incessant, and soon every passing thought was encumbered by it.  
  
Before long, Sam pulled the car in to the bunker’s massive garage. She must have blacked out at some point, because when next she could get her bearings, the boys were both carrying her gently into the main living area.   
  
She panted as they lowered her on to a couch, her stomach starting to roil. With her eyes closed, she heard them murmuring softly to each other, gathering supplies and assembling what they needed with efficiency.   
  
Dean pulled down her jeans just enough to access the wound, as Sam brought a pill and a glass of water.   
  
“Think you’ll be able to keep this down okay?” She nodded, and he helped guide both the pill and the glass to her lips.   
  
“Okay,” Dean said, latex gloves on. “Sorry Charlie – this isn’t gonna feel fun.”  
  
“Get it over with already,” she gritted out.  
  
Definitely, definitely, definitely the opposite of fun. She gripped Sam’s hand as they thoroughly cleaned the wound. By the time that was done, the painkiller had kicked in like the flipping of a switch. When the first stitch went into her skin, she was flying high.  
  
She drifted in and out after that, but did feel the patting down of a large bandage covering her side.   
  
“—appened a long time ago,” someone was saying.  
  
“So it did happen,” said another voice. “I know she was pretty out of it…. What happened? Did it happen with Dad? What did she mean ‘no one could remember you’?”   
  
“This is so not the time to reminisce. Go take a shower. I’m gonna sit with her for a few hours.”  
  
“I’m not a kid anymore, asshole – can you not be evasive for like, five seconds and just give me a straight answer?”   
  
Silence. She couldn’t put the pieces together and understand why she felt sad and embarrassed and uncomfortable. She must have made some kind of noise, because she felt a hand on her forehead and fingers smoothing through her hair.  
  
“It’s okay, you’re okay. Just rest. Keep those eyes closed, you hear?”   
  
Everything became a jumble again, and the tide of sleep pulled at her.   
  
“—talk about this later,” she heard, and then nothing.  
  
***  
  
She went from zero to 90, completely disoriented. Her heart raced in her chest – someone was shaking her shoulder. She had no idea where she was, what was going on, or what goddamn year it was.   
  
Finally her heart rate slowed. Sam – she realized – lightly gripped her shoulders, speaking in a soothing tone.   
  
“It’s okay. I’m okay. Sorry – I don’t know what happened there… I was so out of it,” she said, wincing at the sharp pull at her hip.   
  
“At least you didn’t try to punch me in the face like Dean has,” Sam said wryly. “No problem; I know how those painkillers can make you feel.”   
  
Speaking of which, he held out his hand, which this time held two pills. “Got another one for you, if you’re up for it. An antibiotic too, courtesy of your help in showing me how to infiltrate pharmacy software.”   
  
“Like taking very delicious, expensive candy from a baby,” Charlie said. Her hand shook as she took the pills, and Sam again had to help direct the glass of water to her lips.   
  
“Dean’s making some soup, with actual vegetables in it. Think you’d be up for some?”  
  
She felt her gorge rise slightly. “Ah, um, I think I’ll pass right now. But save some for me, if you want. I’d be more than happy to pass judgment later.”  
  
Sam asked if she wanted to make the long trek to the bedrooms to sleep on an actual bed, but Charlie declined; just the thought of it felt tantamount to running a marathon, and the couch really wasn’t all that bad. Plus, she wasn’t all sequestered away out here.   
  
As Sam helped her settle back down under the blanket, there was a niggling thought in her head, something she wanted to ask him, or tell him. Everything was starting to go a bit fuzzy again, though, so she figured it was fine to wait until later.  
  
***  
  
The next two days she spent mostly outside of consciousness, only waking to swallow more pills or to sweat and tremble her way to the bathroom. Finally on the evening of the third day, she felt well enough to wrap her blanket around her shoulders and shuffle into the kitchen.  
  
Charlie could immediately sense the tension in the room. The brothers were preparing a late dinner of what looked like mac and cheese, pretzel sticks, and small turkey sandwiches. They kept to their respective sides of the kitchen, not speaking. She felt guilt well up inside of her again, despite not truly knowing why.  
  
“Charlie, hey,” Dean said, finally noticing her. “How are you feeling? You want something to eat? Slim pickings around here unfortunately – someone here forgot to do a supply run – but I can throw something together for you if you want.” She glanced at Sam, who frowned down into the pot of bright orange noodles, but said nothing.  
  
“Um,” she pulled out a chair to sit. “Feeling better, I think. Still hurts. I’m good with just some pretzels right now, thanks.” Dean nodded and sat down with Charlie at the table.   
  
“Glad you’re feeling better,” Sam said, plate of food in hand and making a beeline out of the kitchen.  
  
“No, wait—” she tried to stand and gasped at the pain. “Sam, please – you guys – just stop—”  
  
Both Sam and Dean nearly tripped over themselves to get her to calm down and sit.   
  
“Hey, not going anywhere. Just sit – no sudden movements, okay?” Sam took the seat next to her.  
  
She felt like an idiot and mega annoyed at the same time, on top of having to sit a certain way to not aggravate her hip, which made her other leg tingle, on the verge of falling asleep. Just awesome.  
  
“Okay,” she said, not meeting their eyes. “Whatever stupid thing I said the other day, can you guys just get over it already? Or tell me what I did wrong and fix it, or whatever?”  
  
Their faces scrunched up in identical confusion.   
  
“About Dean nearly being gutted?” she gestured, exasperated. Dean went stock still, and Sam sighed.   
  
“Charlie,” Sam said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault some of us here keep secrets and are allergic to sharing important life events.”  
  
“I’m not keeping secrets, okay? I’m not—” Dean said loudly. He paused, clearing his throat. “There’s a big difference between keeping secrets and just not sharing information that isn’t relevant like, at all—”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, hold up. You never told him? Anything?!” Had she not been in danger of completely falling over, she would have reached over to smack Dean.  
  
“Tell me _what_?” Charlie was pretty sure Sam was seconds away from flipping the table.  
  
“Jesus, _nothing_ , okay, why—”  
  
“You,” she pointed to Dean, “shut up. And you,” pointing to Sam, “go get my laptop.”  
  
Dean glared at her murderously when Sam left the room. Charlie, never one to miss an opportunity to do the opposite of the mature thing, stuck her tongue out at him.  
  
“I only know it from a few references in the Winchester Gospels. Uh, sorry—the _Supernatural_ series,” Charlie said as Sam placed her laptop in front of her. “Let’s see… yes, okay. I think the first mention was in _Scarecrow_. After you both had, uh, gone your separate ways, but before Sam meets up with Meg… okay, here:   
  
‘It’s the first time they’ve been separated since reuniting that fateful night in Stanford. On top of everything else that had happened, Dean can’t help but think about the curse that had nearly taken his life while Sam was at school. Thanks to the curse, everyone had forgotten about him—everyone. He can’t help but feel forgotten now.’”  
  
“Holy shit,” Dean said, flushed red. “Are you—was Chuck serious with this bullshit?”  
  
“There was another mention in the fourth book series,” Charlie steamrolled over him. “I can’t remember which book specifically, but Dean had been remembering, uh, Hell, and comparing it to nearly being gutted by some creature, but he couldn’t get help because no one could remember him. There was actually quite a bit of debate on the message boards about it, what kind of curse it was, and just trying to decipher what it all meant, because we never got the full story, and, uh, yeah.” Aaaand reining it in; sometimes she forgot the books weren’t actually fictional.  
  
Sam stared at Dean, pursing his lips. “You know I’m just going to track down Chuck and make him tell me all the details if you don’t,” he finally said.  
  
Dean rubbed at his temples and dragged a hand down his face. “Fuck. Okay. Fine. Because I’m sure it’s gonna make you feel the warm and fuzzies to be in the know: I accidentally handled a cursed object while you were at school. It made everyone who I had ever met forget that I existed. Like, completely wiped from their memories. I figured it would be better just to keep things the way they were, but then I nearly got sliced in two during a hunt and things weren’t looking too good. I was found by some random passerby and taken to the hospital but didn’t have them call you or Dad or Bobby because there was no fucking point. Anyway… two months later I was out of the hospital and tracked that thing down and destroyed it. Called up Bobby just after to make sure it worked.”  
  
“How long,” Sam said quietly. “How long between the curse getting activated and destroying the object?”  
  
Dean was quiet for a long moment. “A little over a year and a half.”  
  
Sam nodded, pushed back from the table, and left the room.   
  
Dean poked at his sandwich. “There was a reason why I didn’t want him to know.”  
  
Charlie nodded, determined and mostly failing to push away the guilt. “I know. But what if that had happened to him, and you had no idea? Even if there was no way to change what happened, wouldn’t you still want to know?”   
  
Dean’s silence was all the answer she needed.  
  
***  
  
Charlie wandered like a ghost through the bunker. She slept, she ate (only a little bit, much to Dean’s chagrin), she changed her bandage, she kept up with the pain pills (now taking only half the dosage) and the antibiotics. But she was definitely feeling cooped up, and checking her laptop didn’t help, her algorithms picking up hunts and other mysterious events in the news across the country.  
  
She’d have to make a break for it soon. Except… she was pretty sure Sam was still upset, and Dean wasn’t in the best of moods either. She couldn’t help but feel it was all her fault.  
  
Oh well. It was clear this wasn’t her argument to fix, and they had probably had their fill of her company by now.  
  
Decision made, she gingerly packed up her things and set towards the door.  
  
Except, like a giant goddamn ninja cat, Sam suddenly stood in her way.  
  
“Sam!” she squeaked. “I didn’t—I mean, this isn’t what it looks like—”  
  
“It’s okay,” Sam said. “If you really wanna go, I didn’t want to stop you. I just wanted to say goodbye.”  
  
“Wait,” Dean slid into the room, apparently having heard all the commotion. “Charlie’s leaving? You’re leaving?”  
  
“Yes? Yes. I mean, for a bit. I was gonna email….” Awkward, awkward, awkward.  
  
Son of a bitch. She was so over this.  
  
“No, you know what, I wasn’t gonna email. At least not for a little bit. Not until you two idiots get your shit sorted! I mean, yeah, maybe I was the one who opened her big dumb mouth and started this whole thing, but it’s _really_ tiring to tiptoe around jerkoffs holding grudges over something that happened over ten years ago! I mean, what the hell!”  
  
She realized then that Sam’s eyebrows had ascended into the middle of his forehead, and Dean had shuffled back a few steps.  
  
“Ugh!” With more drama than an online comment section, she threw up her hands, lifted her bag to her shoulder, and pushed past them.  
  
Or, she tried to.  
  
In reality, she attempted to shove the bag to her shoulder, but the weight made her off-balance, so she leaned on her slowly-healing hip and nearly tumbled to the ground.  
  
“Jesus, Charlie,” Sam pulled the bag away and helped right her.   
  
“Who’s the idiot now,” Dean grumbled. Both Sam and Charlie shot him a Look.  
  
“Charlie… you’re right. You shouldn’t feel like you have to apologize or leave, especially since you’re still not at one hundred percent. I’m sorry we made you feel that way.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said. “I’m sorry, kiddo. And,” he drew a breath, “Sam, I’m sorry I kept what happened from you and that you had to find out from someone who wasn’t me.”  
  
“But not sorry for what happened?” Sam pressed.  
  
Dean shrugged, overly nonchalant. “It’s in the past, dude. It all worked out, didn’t it?”   
  
Sam’s lemon-sour face suggested that he’d be picking up that conversation again later.  
  
Charlie cleared her throat. “Well… thanks. I mean it. I’d say sorry again, but, you know. It super doesn’t help that you guys fight all passionate and dramatic like a telenovela.”  
  
“Telenovelas are awesome, so I take that as a compliment. Hey!” Dean clapped his hands together. “We never did get to sit down together for that Indiana Jones marathon. I think now is as good a time as any. C’mon, hob-along.”   
  
With Sam carrying her bag to her right, and Dean holding out a steadying arm for her like a prom date on her left, Charlie let the warmth and comfort she had come to know trickle into her once again.


End file.
